Page 84 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

“Well, of course he did.” I threw my hands into the air, nearly toppling a tray of drinks. “God fucking damn him to fucking goddamn hell.”

“How about,” George asked gently, “I take you home?”

It was a good plan. A sensible plan. A plan I would have been well advised to go with. “No,” I roared.

And stormed off.

Chapter 27

Ifound Caspian in the propped-open doorway of the fire escape, watching the rumpled indigo of the starless London sky, cigarette between his fingers. I grabbed it, threw it to the ground, and stubbed it out with the toe of my shoe.

“Make up your fucking mind,” I told him. “Like, smoke or don’t smoke. But stop pretending you’re not smoking when you are.”

He gazed at me, cartoonishly shocked, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. “What on earth are you doing?”

“What areyoudoing?”

“Well, I was having a cigarette, which you seem to have found objectionable.”

“What are you doinghere? Why did you buy all the pictures? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He was silent, the uncertain moonlight rendering him almost monochrome, all stark lines and shadows.

“Well?” I might actually have stamped my foot.

“Oh, I thought they were hypothetical questions.” His attention flicked regretfully to the crushed remains of his cigarettes and his fingers twitched. “I’m here because I…heard about the show and was, I suppose, I was curious? I bought the pictures because I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else seeing you that way. And I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I wish I did.”

This was a lot to process. I wasn’t even sure how to begin. “You just heard about the show? How?”

“Since the incident with my sister and the tabloids, I’ve had a Google alert for you.” Caspian contrived to look both defiant and sheepish. “It seemed prudent. But I know I shouldn’t have come tonight.”

“Jeez, you think?”

“Regret is futile, Arden.”

“You say that a lot, but you know something? I think regret isimportant. It’s how you learn to live with things instead of running from them.”

Again, silence. And Caspian’s profile, bleak and beautiful, and pale as bone in the gloom.

I sighed. “Okay, what was that crap about not wanting anyone to see me? You know there’s a book, right? Are you going to buy all those as well? Donotbuy all those as well.”

“I wasn’t intending…that is, I’m not thinking…I’m not sure I can explain it.”

“Fucking try. Right the fuck now.”

“I will concede, it wasn’t rational. They reminded me of when we were together, and I didn’t want to share that part of you with the world.”

“Right.” I folded my arms—since it was that or start waving them around like an enraged albatross. “And so you’re just going to take a bunch of pictures of me back with you to the home, or presumably homes, you share with your fiancé and hang them up in the bedroom, are you?”

“Clearly not. I’ll put them in storage.”

And I lost it. Flew at him, flailing, managed to land a few not very effective blows against his chest before he caught my wrists. Then I burst into tears. Not because I was sad. But because I was just so helplessly fucking angry. “You wanker. You absolute fucking wanker.”

“For God’s sake.” Caspian adjusted his grip, stepping back just in time to avoid my incompetent attempt to kick his shins. “What’s the matter with you?”

Scalding tears were streaming down my face, making my eyes ache with pressure and my lips burn with salt. “I hate you, that’s what’s the matter. Those pictures arebeautiful. I’m proud of them. And you’re locking them away from everyone because even though you don’t want me, you don’t want anyone else to have me either.”

“Of course I want you, Arden.” Caspian’s voice had gone very low, his words ragged things creeping reluctantly from his mouth. “I don’t know how to stop wanting you.